


A Mile In Someone Else’s Shoes, or, How Merlin Got His Groove Back

by zempasuchil



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zempasuchil/pseuds/zempasuchil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin wakes up one morning to find his magic gone.  Arthur wakes up one morning to find that he has magic. post S1 / pre S2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mile In Someone Else’s Shoes, or, How Merlin Got His Groove Back

Merlin wakes to the sounds of birds and he grimaces. Too early for too much wine last night. But duty calls and soon so will Arthur, if he doesn't get up, and so Merlin stumbles out of bed in the near-dark.

He stubs his toes on various things but manages to find his clothing, and by the time he wanders out to where Gaius has already made breakfast, the sun is up. Merlin feels a little dizzy and stops to rest a hand on the table. He can't possibly be drunk. Maybe he's getting sick. He doesn't dare tell Gaius, though; it would only earn him a foul and unnecessary tonic. No, maybe it's something else - the sky looks a little funny from here, maybe it's a different color or there's a storm coming. What was yesterday like? Was it this brightly overcast? He tries not to look too ill as Gaius leaves to get more vinegar for his tonics.

And then he realizes it when he reaches for his shoes and they just sit there. He reaches again, and of course he doesn't need his hands to reach them, he's reaching with his magic, but they don't fly onto his feet like they're supposed to and he's snapping at thin air. Suddenly the strangeness in his stomach turns even stranger and he feels a pain in his chest: it's gone, completely gone. Merlin blinks, narrows his eyes, tries hard. There's nothing there.

 

Very distraught and distracted, Merlin can't be blamed for showing up a little bit late to Arthur's chambers. He is tempted to not go at all, because his magic is himself and he might as well not exist without it, but Gaius manages to remind him that he lives in Camelot still and has a life there too. It takes some convincing on Gaius' part but Merlin is here now, knocking perfunctorily at Arthur's door and not waiting to hear a reply before entering.

Arthur is already up and rummaging in his closet. Merlin curses inwardly for the scathing lecture he's about to get on being _punctual_, like he hasn't got more important things to worry about like his ability to _save them all_, but before he can say so much as "Sorry," Arthur turns and Merlin notices he's not exactly wearing any clothes at all. His throat constricts and he tries not to stare as he realizes that he's staring, oh god, and Arthur is yelling at him red-faced to _Get! Out!_ He obliges without hesitation and nearly trips himself trying to back up and turn around at the same time, but manages to make it out and close the door to collapse against the stone wall.

Today is really not his day.

He supposes, then, that he really ought to go get Arthur's breakfast extra quickly. If the cooks are in a bad mood he doesn't know what hope there will be for him.

 

Fortunately, the cooks seem extra pleasant this morning and Arthur's breakfast is still hot when he arrives. Merlin is relieved enough to kiss whoever is responsible for this, as long as that person isn't Uther or Gaius or - Merlin cringes.

He knocks more loudly this time and makes sure to wait for an answer, but he doesn't hear one. So he knocks again, because surely Arthur hasn't left without breakfast. He can hear noises in there, like doors banging or something bumping the table, and is that a chair being dragged across the floor?

"I'm sorry for that, er, just now" he shouts at the door. "I've brought your breakfast."

As he raises a fist to knock again the door opens suddenly, and Arthur is standing there – _in pants, thank the lord_ \- still shirtless and sweaty-looking. Quickly Merlin lets his hand fall in a way that he hopes is very casual and unnoticeable so that Arthur does not think that he was aiming to rap him on the forehead. He looks down and then looks up to see Arthur rather wide-eyed and disheveled for this early in the morning. Merlin feels like he is intruding on something too sexy for his presence, but Arthur does not look annoyed, just surprised, which is even stranger. Arthur is always annoyed with Merlin.

"Are you all right?" Merlin asks. Arthur blinks.

"Sure," he says. "Is that my breakfast?"

Merlin nods.

Arthur jerks his head toward the table and turns to pace around his room.

"Rearranging the furniture in your spare time?" Merlin asks. Arthur grimaces, or smirks, or flinches, and continues turning here and there to retrace his mysterious tracks. The chair is all the way on the other side of the room, and the table is against the wall, and Arthur's bedclothes are flung every which way. _Great,_ Merlin thinks. This is exactly the day he would have to deal with Arthur's mess: when he didn't have an ounce of magic to help him, and he really should be somewhere else, trying to find out how to fix that. The universe is not his friend.

And pantsless Arthur...

He grimaces and groans inwardly. Those were not thoughts he wanted to deal with right now. Too much, it's all just too much.

"What?" says Arthur suddenly, and Merlin realizes he had just spoken out loud.

"Uh, nothing," he says, quickly moving to fold a far-flung shirt so he can bend his head over something and hopefully then Arthur won't see his blush.

"Fix this," Arthur says in a voice that is somehow commanding and absentminded at once, waving his hand around to indicate the room's shambles. He pulls on a shirt and his boots, grabs the bread from the plate, and leaves without another word.

"If only it were that easy!" Merlin groans to the empty room. It offers no sympathy. He sighs and goes to find someone to help him drag the table back into place.

 

Arthur is in the practice yards, practicing, by himself. Merlin sees no need to bother him even though he has been acting rather strangely. He has bigger fish to fry.

He begins with his book, and pages through the parts he hasn't memorized yet, but there's nothing there that looks relevant. Truth be told, he doesn't quite know where to begin looking. Are his powers stolen, lost, destroyed, or drained? Are they being blocked? Is he in another world where everything is the same except for his magic? Is he actually Merlin today? He looks down at himself, then realizes what an absurd thought that was and buries his face in his hands.

Gaius returns and Merlin tells him what has happened. As expected, Gaius takes this very seriously.

"Someone is after you, Merlin."

"How could someone always be after me? Do you think it's possible that I just... lost it? That its time had come and it got up and walked away?"

Gaius frowns at him. "No, my boy, I don't think so at all. There aren't, there can't be, many who have the power and knowledge to influence magic so. And I believe you may have just killed the only one I did know."

Merlin feels a little sick. "I think I need more books."

__________

 

Arthur has no idea what on earth is happening to him.

He wakes up and his skin is tingling. At first it's just his arm he notices, so he thinks he's slept on it funny, but when he shifts his whole skin twinges and he stops still as a statue.

He must be gravely ill. Gingerly, he gets up out of bed. His stomach doesn't feel funny. He doesn't feel weak on his feet. He doesn't feel chilled or feverish. He checks his skin: no rash or sores or anything different from yesterday, when he certainly did not tingle. He scratches his upper arm and wishes the sun weren't so bright.

Immediately the room darkens.

So then he thinks he must be dreaming, because since when are his wishes actually obeyed? And by light, no less. He tests this theory: "I'm going to sprout wings and fly," he says, and imagines it happening. But this doesn't work.

Walking over to the table, he grabs it and tries to move it. The first tug is useless; the second sends it nearly flying across the room. Arthur steps back, shaky, and accidentally runs into the chair, falling to the ground.

His arse hurts, a lot. Too much for a dream.

"This cannot be good," he says, slowly getting up. He is still feeling tingly and the table is still on the far side of the room. He sees that the curtains are half-closed – _when did I do that?_ Oh, right. Arthur roars in frustration and waves his arms furiously, and his pants disappear.

He stops roaring out of shock, and then roars again. Apparently whatever this is, it's even less controllable than he would have thought. He storms to the wardrobe to fling open the doors and find some clothing.

Of course it is then, as he stands stark naked, that Merlin chooses to enter without so much as a warning.

Arthur roars, again. Merlin flees and the door slams behind him, and Arthur is almost too distressed to worry whether he made his manservant actually vanish as well. _Pants,_ he thinks, single-minded. _Pants, then thinking._

After he gets a pair of pants on and sits on the edge of his bed, gingerly in case he accidentally breaks it like he flung that table, and lets himself think. It only takes him a second before terror hits him: it must be magic.

"Father's going to have a _fit_," he groans, and collapses back onto his bed.

But he doesn't remain there for long. He has to do something about all this moved furniture, he realizes. Arthur stands up and tries to drag the table back into place again, but it won't budge. Backing away from it, he hesitantly lifts his hand before him, palm outward, as though he is going to move the table from a distance. "All right," he whispers. If anyone sees or hears this, he is so very dead. "Move!"

Violently sweeping his arm, he only manages to send his chair skidding across the room. The table is still in the wrong corner, someone (probably Merlin with breakfast, oh god he hopes it's Merlin) is knocking at the door, and Arthur feels nauseous.

When Merlin leaves Arthur lets his breath out. _He's dense, he probably didn't notice anything strange,_ Arthur tries to reassure himself as he makes a beeline for the practice yard. Whatever he noticed about the furniture, it was just that he had moved it, and Arthur doesn't need to explain himself to his manservant. And if he can avoid Merlin's eyes, he doesn't feel like he owes Merlin an explanation either.

 

In the practice yards he realizes that it's quite possibly someone else's fault that he woke up one morning with something suspiciously like magic going on with him.

"A spell! An enchantment! I'm bewitched!" he mutters, aware that he's starting to sound crazy, talking to himself like this. "Wait," he says. "Am I crazy?"

If he were crazy, he thinks life would be a lot more interesting than this and not just confusing. If he were crazy he would definitely be imagining monsters and bloody unicorns and such, not this damned persistent _tingling._

Magic is a pain in the ass and he wonders why anyone would ever actually _want_ or _enjoy_ it.

 

Arthur is dressed in his darkest jacket that he had to dig out from the back of the wardrobe. Normally he would have Merlin doing the digging-out for him, but he really just wants to avoid everyone at all costs right now. But especially certain manservants who recently walked in on him in the buff. He squirms; the shoulders are just too tight. Nowhere near as comfortable as his favorite red jacket. He must make sacrifices, though, for the sake of secrecy.

Ducked behind one of the shelves near the far end of Geoffrey of Monmouth's archives, Arthur tries very hard not to let his uncomfortable squirming get him noticed. He has gambled on the information he is looking for to be catalogued under M for Magic, in the shadowy shelves directly across the aisle from him. He hopes that they aren't under S for Sorcery or W for Witchcraft, because those are not in such a conveniently hidden corner. Even so, he would really like to just be invisible right now.

The tingling flares up and then almost vanishes. Arthur starts in surprise, then looks down. _Oh, oh no._ He did it: he's invisible. _How am I supposed to fix this?!_

Well. He might as well take advantage of it now.

Still not quite believing his eyes, he ducks to make himself small and moves quickly across the aisle to the next stack of shelves. Standing close against the one housing the Ms, he reaches up and tries with great difficulty to grab a book – it's nearly impossible, he finds, when you can't see the hand you're using to grab with – and then crouches down and opens it up.

It is at that very unfortunate moment that he runs into someone – or more accurately, someone runs into him.

"Aaargh!" Merlin whisper-shouts, losing his balance entirely as he treads on Arthur's feet and topples over into him. Arthur feels a jolt and a tingle and a pain in his feet all at once, and reaches out to grab something to keep from falling (oh, god, he can see his hand again) but there's nothing but books, and he has barely enough presence of mind not to grab one of those and cause an avalanche. He is knocked on his arse against the corner between the shelf and the wall with Merlin literally on top of him, face smushed into his chest.

"Ouch," Arthur says. "What the hell are you doing here?" Merlin's nose is poking his sternum and it's rather uncomfortable.

"Sorry," Merlin whuffs into Arthur's chest. "I – I didn't see you here." The warm puff of air from his breath sends shivers down Arthur's spine. But what doesn't today?

___

 

"I thought I told you to muck out my stables." Merlin feels the vibrations of Arthur's voice in his own body, and something strange flops in his stomach. Hurriedly he tries to disentangle himself without upsetting any shelves or groping any of Arthur.

"You didn't," he says, when his mouth is unmuffled by Arthur's chest. He is pretty sure his face is red, and hopes to god it's too dim to see.

"Well, I'm telling you now." Arthur seems almost fidgety, and if Merlin didn't think Arthur was incapable of twitchy, he might even seem nervous. Maybe he's ill. If so, his glare is no less potent.

"I – sorry – Gaius – a book I need for –"

Arthur stares at him and Merlin stops talking. Inwardly he swears. He's never going to get that book now.

___

 

Very quickly, Merlin runs away, almost stumbling over his own feet again in the process. The idiot must have gotten lost; he can't have been trying to get to the books on magic. Only a fool or a prince would risk his neck down here, and Arthur is starting to think he may be both. He has no idea what he is looking for and for every second he spends in proximity to these books, the closer he is to discovery and doom. Especially with the way they keep moving when he puts his hand near them, as if they're trying to jump into his fingers. This is terrible, just terrible.

 

When Arthur gets back to his room the table is in place again, and he pinches himself. Maybe he imagined it all. Or maybe Merlin got someone to help him move it back. Or maybe, augh, he can't think any more.

He dresses himself and attempts to lighten his mood by thinking of Merlin mucking out his stables. But even that doesn't help; in his imagination Merlin just seems unhappy too. _Maybe I'll let him leave polishing my armour for tomorrow,_ Arthur thinks, and leaves to go to eat with his father.

___

 

Merlin is busy for the rest of the day, busier than he has been in a while since he can't use any magical shortcuts to help him with his chores. By the end of it he is absolutely exhausted as he enters Arthur's chambers with the prince's supper.

Merlin is pale and peaky and Arthur feels tingles with him at his back as he eats. Merlin refills his cup with wine and Arthur takes it and Merlin fumbles the flask and their hands touch and it shocks Arthur like static, and he can't tell if Merlin felt anything because all he's doing currently is clumsily trying to clean up the spilt wine.

Arthur dismisses Merlin early, because he has had a long day, and the less time he spends around other people the less likely anyone will notice anything strange. Merlin looks up, surprise and relief flashing briefly on his face, and Arthur feels a pang. He's been mucking out stables all day – there's a smudge of mud on his cheek still – and he's nearly asleep on his feet. And Arthur can't remember the last time he dismissed Merlin early.

"Are you sure?" Merlin asks, not bothering to hide his hope. His boldness doesn't irritate Arthur like it usually does.

"Yes," he says shortly, looking down instead of at his manservant's grin. The tingling of magic has crept up on him and he's worried it'll somehow show on his face. "Go on, and come back tomorrow morning as usual."

"Thanks, Arthur," Merlin says, grinning ridiculously as he gathers up the empty bowl, cup, and wine flask and nearly stumbles on his way out the door.

 

Lying in bed in the dark, tossing and turning for what feels like hours, Arthur finally settles on three main points, any number of which may as well be true:

One: someone is trying to frame him with the crime of using magic, in order to destroy his honor, his reputation, his chances at the throne, and ultimately Arthur himself.

Two: someone is trying to make him evil by filling him with dark, corrupting magic.

Three: someone is trying to get to his _father_ through him.

If it's the first that strikes fear into him, it's the last that makes him feel physically ill.

 

Despite everything Arthur might have hoped, it was not all a dream. He does not wake up in the morning without being saturated with tingling; he can still open his curtains without touching them. Arthur groans and punches his mattress futilely till Merlin brings him his breakfast. "Leave it on the table," Arthur says, and Merlin (who is still peaky-looking) does as he is told. "I'll dress myself," Arthur sneers, and Merlin's eyebrows raise as he says, "Yes, milord." Before Arthur can reprimand him for being impertinent he is gone.

 

While eating his lunch, Arthur sneezes and the windows bang open. Merlin starts, pausing his task of polishing Arthur's boots, looking up with wide eyes.

"Strong wind today," Arthur says, trying not to look as mortified and terrified as he is.

This constant anxiety is half of what's driving him crazy – that, and the persistent prickle of magic. If only he had someone to tell, if he didn't have to avoid people as much as possible to keep from accidentally revealing his secret, maybe he would feel better. Maybe he wouldn't be so impossibly alone.

No, this magic stuff doesn't make sense. Why would it follow what he wants sometimes and go contrary to what he wants other times? Maybe there's a way of fixing this but he's too afraid to venture back into Geoffrey's book stacks. If Merlin found him there, anyone could, and they might not be as loyal to Arthur over Uther.

 

After a long day of avoiding people by practicing, going riding, and doing loathsome paperwork in his room while sending Merlin off to do things elsewhere, Arthur is going mad with tingling. When Merlin brings Arthur his supper Arthur snaps dizzily, "It's freezing in here. Light a fire, Merlin, unless you want an icicle for a prince."

_An icicle wouldn't order me around,_ Merlin would normally say. But he doesn't, and it surprises Arthur, his manservant's silence. Merlin just trudges over to the hearth and takes the flint in hand.

"Are you sure you want a fire?" Merlin says, hesitating. "I feel very warm. It's very warm, here in your room."

"No it's not, it's absolutely freezing. And what does it matter anyway, I want a fire so light a fire."

Merlin reluctantly kneels and gets to arranging the kindling. After that, Arthur hears the _click, click, click_ of the flint. And then again: _click, click, click. Click. Click click. Click click click clickclickclickclick_

"_Mer_lin," and he feels his body flush, "how on earth is it taking you so long to start the bloody fire?"

The flint shakes in Merlin's hands and he feels weak. He keeps trying, though, because he had better learn this skill quickly and he could sure use the practice, but finally Arthur snorts and walks over. He crouches down and reaches around him to take the flint from Merlin's cold fingers. The room is frigid, and the warmth of Arthur leaning over him makes Merlin want to lean back and just rest for a minute –

Arthur grabs his shoulder and pulls him away from the fireplace, getting down on his knees himself. It only takes a couple of strokes for flame to nearly burst out of the kindling. Merlin sighs and thinks at the fire, _Just shut up_. Of course, the fire doesn't listen.

___

 

He's starting to hear voices and this is really really not good. He knows it must be magic, that being crazy isn't like this (he managed to look that up in the archives, studies of the insane and their diaries, and he's read enough to know that he doesn't fit the description). But this magic thing is so strange and disturbing and invasive that it might just drive him crazy.

_Merlin,_ it says.

"I'm not Merlin!" he says.

_Meeeerlin,_ he hears again.

_I said I'm not him! What the hell do you want with my inept manservant anyway?_ he thinks at the voice, squinting with the strain of mental effort.

_Merl – wait a moment, what?_

There is a pause.

_Oh,_ the voice says, and Arthur groans because it sounds like it is laughing at him. I see.

And then it goes quiet.

Hopefully that will be the end of that.

 

Arthur's attempts to escape attention at court continue, and he has had to become more inventive, so he takes on an overnight hunting trip on short notice with only his manservant along for company. It is a cold, drizzly day and Merlin is shivering. Arthur is plenty warm but he's never seen Merlin look so pathetic before – wet and cold and sniffling, and today he was even worse at hunting even though he was quieter.

It's been raining on and off all day, but finally they've laid their bedrolls down in the driest spot they can find. It's hard to find enough dry wood to light a fire; it's all too damp to be any good, Merlin says as he struggles with the flint, and Arthur believes him because he isn't about to try it again – what if Merlin notices the magic this time?

He doesn't know how to make Merlin stop looking so pathetic, pale and shivering. He wants to warm him but with this stupid magic, he'd probably set him on fire by accident and then they'd both be screwed. At least he's made himself warm with it, and he can share that heat.

After they've finished their meager supper of the cured meat they brought, Arthur climbs into his bedroll and Merlin goes about securing their supplies from being taken apart or carried off by animals. When Merlin goes to his bedroll, though, it's not there anymore.

"Arthur..." he says, almost whining. What a _prat_.

"Shut up, Merlin, you look miserable. I'm trying to be decent, so come share my bedroll before you freeze to death all alone in yours."

Merlin hesitates.

"And if you ever tell anyone, I'll _end_ you."

Reassured, Merlin pulls off his boots and climbs under the flap that Arthur has lifted to let him under the covers. He's put Merlin's roll on top to keep them warmer, and already it's working, Merlin can feel himself relaxing with relief as the warmth begins to permeate his body.

Arthur rolls over to put his back to Merlin, and Merlin keeps his back to Arthur, and Merlin drops off in two winks. Arthur knows this because Merlin is snoring lightly, and on previous occasions has vehemently denied this when Arthur needled him about it in the morning.  
Perhaps he should have put Merlin's bedroll beneath them, Arthur thinks as he wriggles around, trying to get comfortable. Why was he feeling sorry for Merlin anyway, if he can just drop off to sleep like this. But it's not the ground that's getting to him, it's this weird tingling.

Arthur has figured out how to control his outbursts well enough. The only downside to this is that when he doesn't do magic, the tingling just gets worse, like pressure building. He _can't_ let himself do magic, though, not if he can help it. It's evil, it's only going to get him killed at best, and turn him evil eventually at worst. What horrible sorcerer has done this to him? How he must have known it would hurt Uther so!

Eventually Arthur rolls over, and finally finds a comfortable spot on the ground. He is facing Merlin's back now, is very close in fact, and sighs. The things he does in the name of pity.

His forearms brushing Merlin's back, he falls asleep. He's getting better at ignoring the tingling.

In the middle of the night he half wakes up, no longer warm (he really can't control this magic thing) and pressed up against a shivering Merlin, who must have rolled closer in his sleep to sap some warmth from the other man.

Refusing to let himself think about it, Arthur wraps his arms around Merlin and pulls him closer. In a manly, survival-oriented way. He tries to think about warm things, like toasty blankets that have been sitting by the fire, or the feel of sunlight on his face, or how nice it feels to hold someone – no.

Before he knows it it's dawn and he's looking down at Merlin, who has burrowed into Arthur's chest. He looks birdlike, small and thin as he is, and instead of untangling himself and turning around Arthur allows himself a moment to look at the shadow of Merlin's eyelashes on his ridiculous cheekbones, to think about how it really does feel good to wrap his arms around a pair of shoulders, even if they are bony. Suddenly Merlin's freezing cold feet kick his bare ankles. Arthur yelps, and Merlin jolts awake, and Arthur kicks back, and Merlin scrambles out of the bedroll, and they are both too badly-rested at this early hour to speak to each other until after Merlin cooks breakfast and they resume their hunt once more.

 

A few days later, after a tasteless dinner and plenty of wine, Arthur stands for Merlin to remove his armour at the end of a long patrol of the surrounding forest. Arthur is feeling very exhausted and very warm. The fire flares up, and Merlin's face is gleaming in a light sheen of sweat as he peers at buckles in the dim light, and that just makes Arthur feel warmer.

With his shoulder piece, mail, and shirt off, Merlin kneels before Arthur and reaches to unbuckle his belt. Arthur flushes (with heat, and wine) and his knees wobble (with exhaustion, and wine) and (to steady himself) he reaches for Merlin's dark, shining hair and pushes his fingers into soft locks.

Merlin's fingers slip, but Arthur's belt keeps unbuckling and his trousers start unlacing and it all falls around Arthur's ankles.

He looks down and Merlin is staring at where his pants just were, at his crotch actually, and then looking up to Arthur meets his eyes and Arthur finally gets a grip and stumbles back, nearly tripping over his trousers, and sits on his bed clutching the covers. Merlin just stares at him, eyes huge, mouth working like a fish out of water.

"I-I-I- was that – that wasn't _me_ -" he says, in wonder, staring at his own hands. "Was it – it can't have –"

"Shut up, Merlin. _Shut up, Merlin_. Don't you – don't you dare – oh holy fuck," Arthur groans, burying his head in his hands, "I'm going to get executed by my own father, this is it, just please –" and did Merlin really just hear "please" come from Arthur's mouth? – "don't tell my father, don't turn me in, I can't help it –"

"You _lied_ to me!" Merlin says, nearly shouts and Arthur's eyes widen and he hisses _Shut up!_

"You lied!" he repeats, quieter. "All this time –"

"No!"

"How long, then? To everyone!"

"I would've been killed if I hadn't!"

Merlin gapes at him. His chest aches. He wants to say, _But you could've trusted me_, or _If only I'd have known_, or _But you're not alone_. I'm not alone.

But he is, now, and it's like a stab to the heart.

"I don't know where it came from! I can't bloody help it! It's like being under an enchantment except I can do the enchanting!"

"There must be _something_ we can do about it."

Arthur stares at him like he can't believe what Merlin just said, which makes no sense because they always do this – they always have to figure out something to do about it, and it always works in the end – and then Merlin sees something he's never seen directed toward him before: fear. Arthur's afraid of, of him, of how Merlin could shout right now and summon the guards, how he could run to tell anyone, and Arthur's life as he knew it would be over. For Arthur to be so afraid, so afraid of _him,_ is the wrongest thing Merlin's ever seen, something that only appears in his nightmares. It makes him feel sick.

"Gaius will be able to figure something out," he says with solid certainty, but Arthur yells "I can't tell him! And it can't be some strange illness," though Arthur certainly looks ill enough, he's even shaking a little, "I'm certain it's an enchantment. Someone has cast a spell on me; how can the physician stop a spell?"

And even then Merlin realizes that Arthur's not entirely wrong. Even if Gaius knows what can be done, even if he can find it in a book, it usually comes down to Merlin. Merlin's magic saves them. And now it can't.

Arthur says, "What if I'm stuck like this, and this is just the way things are now?"

Merlin shakes his head vigorously. "There has to be something, and if there's anyone who knows, it's Gaius. We have to try." He has to try.

"But – Gaius must tell my father, and my father _cannot know_."

He interrupts before Arthur can look any more terrified and says, "Gaius won't tell, he won't, I'm certain. I trust him with my life." He attempts some levity, probably a bad idea as usual. "Which I value rather more than yours, so that's saying something."

He'd like to think he saw a smile there crinkling at the corners of Arthur's eyes.

 

As much a disaster as this is, the Crown Prince of Camelot suddenly acquiring magic and joining the ranks of those his father would have unconditionally killed, Merlin would think that he would feel some relief. That he isn't the only one, that he can share his secret now with Arthur, that they can share each other's secret and everything will be all right, they'll have each others' backs, Arthur will understand and there'll be an end to this abominable witch hunt.

He realizes, though, that it's not that simple. Arthur hates his magic, thinks it's a curse put on him, probably hates sorcerers as much as ever if not more. And if he tells Arthur that he, Merlin, is normally a sorcerer, Arthur will hate him. He'll think that Merlin has cursed him with his magic and is trying to turn him as black and evil as Uther has declared all sorcerers are.

It's harder than ever not to tell him, though. Almost every day there is some moment where Merlin would try to draw on his magic, and the sudden realization that it's _gone_ makes his stomach drop out from under him. And then he sees Arthur, restlessly running a hand through his hair, rolling his tense shoulders and the muscle moving smoothly beneath. With circles under his eyes, tired and wanting nothing more than to run away from this problem that he doesn't understand and can't swing a sword at in the way he's used to fighting off his enemies. It's not the magic, he realizes eventually, so much as the repercussions that he fears. Arthur is afraid, sometimes of himself, but even despite this he goes on trying to master what's got hold of him. He is still Prince Arthur, but somehow, to Merlin, a little bit more now.

He's sick with wanting that power Arthur glows with, but what's more is he's completely drawn in.

One day when they are alone in Arthur's chambers, Merlin polishing Arthur's greave, he sees Arthur open his mouth, then think twice and close it again. Merlin is puzzled until the prince smiles and stares at the far side of the room intently. His wide eyes flash a brilliant gold.

A fire blazes to life in the hearth, and Merlin's breath catches. For the rest of the day the image of Arthur's eyes, golden, swims through his brain, distracting to the point that he nearly drops the clean laundry he's carrying when he hears Arthur's voice, calling after him to ready his horse.

___

 

It's not even the damned tingling anymore, Arthur realizes one day. That, he can ignore now. It's something else, and he can't put his finger on it, but it's something worse and it's something to do with Merlin.

He's – he's not different, but he doesn't seem as sick as he did a week ago. He looks at Arthur differently, and it makes him shiver. At first it was fear – suddenly his manservant, of all people, had such power over his life and death, and he'd never been at someone's mercy like that before. Especially Merlin's. It was almost laughable, except that his situation was very, very unfunny.

No, it's something more, like the way Merlin stares at him hungrily when he lets a little magic loose. Like how Merlin will touch his back, his arm, in understanding comfort, and Arthur will lean into it because he _needs_ it, more than he cares to admit. This is his moment of weakness, and he is resigned to be at the mercy of this strange curse that brings out these darknesses in him. Makes him give in and confide in his manservant who is now at risk for knowingly aiding and abetting a sorcerer, makes him take advantage of Merlin's kindness, just because he wants it. Makes him want.

What else could it be that draws him to those wide blue eyes, that makes him cling to Merlin's presence and ache for his touch, for that pale skin?

He's only going to hurt them all in the end. It has to stop.

___

 

Merlin has spent days and nights poring over Gaius's library and his own book of magic, looking for a clue as to what could have happened.

He asks Arthur, Gaius wants to know when this started. He figures out the days, and realizes that this must be connected, that if he woke up without magic and Arthur woke up with it, surely that must mean something. But how?

The truth is, Gaius didn't ask; in fact Merlin didn't tell Gaius about Arthur at all. Suddenly it seems far more private, and he knows that the answer is here in these books somewhere, and he'll find it as fast as Gaius would, and maybe if he needs help then he'll ask.

The day that Merlin finds out how to solve this thing, he tries the spell before telling Arthur; he doesn't want to get Arthur's hopes up if it fails. He does the magic he's painstakingly learned from the book. He chants the words, tries his best to pronounce them with some gravity, infuse some essence of magic into them – they're magic words, they must be able to do _something_ even if he can't on his own.

It feels hollow and shaky, like he's pulling the strings of a puppet limb, not actually alive inside it. And it sparks and fizzles. And he can't feel anything happen.

He slams his door, and when Gaius asks what's wrong, he says _nothing_, quietly, and Gaius just gives him that look that Merlin can't stand.

 

Arthur claims that he's only tipsy, but his walking ability suggests 'quite drunk' by the end of the feast, and so Merlin takes his arm and tries to steady him as well as he can as they walk to Arthur's chambers. This isn't spectacularly well, as Merlin has had a few drinks of wine himself and is a complete and utter lightweight. They end up tripping over each other's feet sometimes, and Arthur stumbles against him, pushing him into a wall and laughing.

Merlin doesn't bother to undress him, aware that the last time Arthur had wine and this happened something very strange had occurred and it would be incredibly awkward if something happened again, so he just sits Arthur on his bed and removes his boots.

"Come on," he says, tugging, and Arthur smiles.

"It's okay, Merlin, I can get 'em," he says, but Merlin says "No, that's my job, and you're drunk –"

"So're you. You do too much, Merlin. Come here, come... come sit." He pats the bed.

Puzzled but relaxed, Merlin obeys.

"You do too much," Arthur says, completely ignoring his boots. He has a hard time looking Merlin in the eye, his gaze moving lazily around the room. "I'm dangerous to you, now."

"What?"

"I mean it. I could – I could blow you up – "

"No you couldn't," Merlin laughs, but Arthur frowns, upset.

"But what if I did! No, no, I mean, I wouldn't, but what if something happened and my father found out, you'd be – you'd be in more trouble than me maybe."

Merlin isn't laughing.

"I'd be dead if you weren't here, Merlin. Anyone else would have run. But you stayed. Why?"

"I dunno," Merlin says, and this time he's the one who won't meet Arthur's eyes.

"See, you do too much." Arthur puts his hand on Merlin's upper arm as he says this, slides it along his shoulder, across his back, leans in –

\- and collapses onto Merlin's lap. Arthur sighs. Merlin feels his warm breath on his thigh and his stomach flips.

"I think – I think you're part of the magic, Merlin."

His stomach feels like it just got punched. Merlin tries very, very hard to will it not to rebel now, and focuses on not throwing up. "What do – what?"

"You, you pull me near you, I can't stop – fuck," Arthur says, "The curse is making me want you, Merlin, I don't know, I'm sorry, I want it to stop, I never wanted to drag you into this, this magic is _awful_, I'm not myself, you do too much for –"

"It's okay, hush, it's," Merlin chokes out, "We'll find a cure." Arthur's hands are flailing, and he catches them and holds them, and Arthur falls asleep there in Merlin's lap. Merlin feels tortured inside as much as Arthur seems outside, and decides that this has to end.

 

He goes to see the Dragon, as a last resort, because if the dragon decides to spit fire at him this time he won't be able to defend himself.

"Well of course this happened," the Dragon says when Merlin has told him what he needs help with this time. "What did you think would happen, when you killed Nimueh and threw chaos into the Old Religion?"

Merlin says, "What does that have to do with Arthur?"

The Dragon says, "Nothing that touches a part does not touch the whole."

"Thanks a lot."

If dragons could roll their eyes... "Try harder. You're terrible at translating theory to practice. You never were one for rites."

"I'm going to be an awful Priest, then, aren't I."

"At this rate you're not going to be anything at all."

And then later, when he's paging through his book of magic for the thousandth time, Merlin realizes: the rite. Two halves of a whole. Copying it out, he brings the instructions to Arthur. He sits the prince down with a shock to the hand where he touches him and Arthur looks at him strangely, flinches imperceptibly, and Merlin wonders if the tingle came from Arthur or him. Touches more gently.

"Arthur," he says, "I'm going to do some magic and you're going to have to help me."

Arthur opens his mouth and Merlin puts a finger to his lips and shows Arthur the words to recite, how to recite them exactly. Merlin has mixed the potion, and asks for Arthur's blood and Arthur is afraid. "It's too dangerous," he says.

Merlin says, "It won't harm us. I promise." But he's not the one with the magic now so the feeling in his stomach is too uneasy to feel like honesty. Arthur looks like he can tell that.

"We could, er, well, kissing does it too." Arthur looks at him like he's crazy. Merlin says, "I swear I'm not making this up," shoving the book in Arthur's face desperately, and Arthur backs away from it.

"Okay, okay, I believe you. Who on earth thought that up?" Merlin shrugs. Arthur says, "I –"

Merlin says, "I know how - I know you - I mean. It's in the book. At least it's not blood-magic, it's less dangerous."

Arthur says almost inaudibly, "Is it now," and Merlin swallows a lump. Sighing, Arthur says "Let's get on with it, then," and leans in towards Merlin, eyes closed.

Merlin swallows, again, throat suddenly very dry, and leans forward, and brushes Arthur's lips with his own.

He feels a tingle like what he thinks he might remember magic being, some strange heat, a pinch that hurts, but then nothing. Arthur's lips are still on his, though, and for a split second Merlin wildly thinks of reaching to cup Arthur's neck and push his fingers through his blonde hair, and press them closer; thinks of Arthur's mouth opening to his, wet, hot. _He would_, Merlin thinks, _he would do it_, and it's this thought that makes him jerk backwards.

"Feel any different?" he asks Arthur.

Arthur has drawn back and is biting his lips. He looks at Merlin and Merlin sees his eyes flash gold, and the wardrobe doors bang open behind him.

Arthur swears and gets up and storms out of the room, leaving Merlin to scurry to gather the magic things before someone sees them.

That night Merlin brings him dinner and Arthur doesn't speak to him until he has turned to leave, about to open the door.

Arthur says, "When did you learn how to... do that thing you did. Today."

Merlin weighs his options. "I," he begins.

Arthur is silent, expectant, _not angry, not terrified,_ Merlin realizes.

So he tells Arthur the truth.

"I could do it for a very long time now. I could do it like breathing, until a couple weeks ago. Probably... probably about when you woke up with magic."

Arthur stares at him, eyes wide.

"I think that's what's gone wrong," Merlin says. "I don't know if anyone did this to us or if it's just a stupid magical accident, or if it's entirely unrelated and whoever managed to take my powers also gave you some other strange magical powers and messed with your head, or -"

"Merlin," Arthur says faintly. "Are you telling me you've normally got magic?"

Merlin's throat is very dry and he can't speak and he thinks he's going to throw up. So he flees.

Arthur hasn't followed him, Merlin thinks as he vomits into the latrine, and he thinks, _That's good._

He goes to bed with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. It's something like fear and something like resignation but mostly enormous uncertainty.

 

When his eyes open in the morning, the curtains sweep to the sides of his little window, and his room is flooded with light. He looks at them, and deliberately draws the drapes without moving a muscle. It's back. He breathes deep, more deeply than he has for weeks.

_Now what_, he thinks.

He cleans his room with it first. There's nothing like the feeling of a swooshing pile of clothes whipping around him, cleaning up inside his head and around his bed. Only after that's done does he allow himself to remember Arthur.

He's just getting dressed when someone knocks, and, thinking it's Gaius, Merlin says "Come in."

Arthur interrupts Merlin in the middle of putting on his pants and Merlin nearly falls over. Blushing, Arthur stops short and averts his gaze, apologizing quietly, and Merlin turns around to finish with his pants and catch his breath. He hears Arthur say, "It's gone."

Merlin says, "I know." He breathes deep, says, "I've got it back."

His trousers are on and he turns around. Arthur still looks pale.

"Is it strange?" Merlin asks. "It feels strange here. I almost got used to it, not having it." He's very aware that he's not wearing a shirt and that the sun is shining in making him look very pale. Arthur is aware of this too, judging by his flickering gaze, but he is mostly looking at the floor.

"Yeah," he says finally. "Yeah, it's not like I expected."

Merlin looks at him run a hand through his fine disheveled hair, looks at the way his eyes still have dark shadows beneath them, the shaky grin he's trying on. Merlin looks at him and his heart hurts and he knows too how it's not the same, it won't be the same.

"I don't think it," Arthur starts to say, avoiding Merlin's eyes, and stops as if his words are caught somewhere inside and he's struggling to get them out.

"No?" Merlin asks quietly.

But it's finished, somehow, what was there for a second is gone now, and Arthur says, "Thank you, Merlin," as he turns to leave.

"Wait," Merlin says, moving, and Arthur stops and turns so suddenly that Merlin doesn't just have his hands on his shoulders, he's flush against him, knee to knee and chest to chest. It is only another step and Merlin is pushing Arthur up against the door, one motion, and he is kissing him hard, as hard as he's dreamt of for weeks.

Arthur freezes. Merlin stops and, trying not to look at Arthur cross-eyed, trying not to look at him at all actually, pulls back, because if he thought he was in for it before for being a sorcerer imagine what Arthur must think of him now...

Arthur lets out a moan and is right there, won't let an inch of space between them, a hand on Merlin's jaw and another on his waist, pulling him flush. Arthur is kissing him like a starving man eats, like a drowning man breathes. They clutch at each other fiercely and Merlin is reminded of diving underwater blindly to find and hold this body in his hands, to twist this fabric under his fingers and pull tight and grip. It is the same but different. He feels a bit like he is surfacing after a long dive, and a bit like he is plunging in again, but more than anything he feels, he feels. He feels Arthur's muscles through his shirt, running a hand up his sleeve to touch as much skin as possible, and the heat of that skin. Merlin gasps into Arthur's mouth as Arthur moves a leg between his, pushes and grinds their erections together.

"Are you –" Arthur's voice cracks.

"_Yes_, yes, god yes –"

Arthur pushes him back to his bed, pushes them onto it, runs his hands over Merlin's chest just looking, hungrily. Merlin reaches under Arthur's shirt to push it up, and Arthur pulls it off himself, then reaches for the buttons on Merlin's trousers. Before he can do anything, though, Merlin holds his hand down to stop him. Arthur looks up to see Merlin's blue, blue eyes flash gold, and feels the trousers unbuttoning themselves beneath his still fingers. Merlin laughs, and Arthur presses down to make him gasp; then he smiles, and they both laugh until they kiss each other quiet.


End file.
